Platonic
by MakeSconesNotWar
Summary: Sequel to I Wish I Wasn't Alone. Does not need to be read, but it would help. England is staying at America's house for the summer, since there is much business to take care of. But, not just work is being developed. A relationship is as well. Rated T for language. UsUk if you squint, and FrUk if you squint and turn your screen.


**Disclaimer: I obviously do not own Hetalia or _Platonic_ (The poem, anyway). If I did, do you honestly think I would need to post a story on here instead of publishing it in the manga itself? And if I did own Hetalia, Germany and Italy would have known Germany was the Holy Roman Empire a while ago.**

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_I knew it the first of the summer  
I knew it the same at the end  
That you and your love were plighted  
But couldn't you be my friend_

America smiled happily as the golden rays of sunlight touched his skin, warming him up to a nice temperature. "Come on out Artie. It's feels awesome!"

Said Brit scowled at the idiot in the yard. Honestly, where did he go _wrong_?

America frowned lightly at the scowl he received. Really, he knew he kinda ruined things with the guy and all, but couldn't they be friends!? It's not like they could be anything more, what with England in love with Francey-Pants and all.

_Couldn't we sit in the twilight  
Couldn't we walk on the shore  
With only a pleasant friendship  
To bind us, and nothing more_

America strolled down the beach alone, hands stuffed in his jean pockets. His shoes were left in his car, the sand warm under his bare feet. The sun was setting on the horizon, the water a lulling orange colour. It was nearing twilight, so he should be heading back home soon. _Where his object of unrequited love waited,_ his mind reminded him bitterly.

America let an unusual look cross his face – a scowl. That voice in his head had no right! So what if he was in love with his former caretaker? So what if his feelings would never be returned? So what if they couldn't even be friends because England can't get over the Revolution which was a good 200 years ago? So what if. . . So what if he slapped on a face every fucking day? Does it really matter? No body cared.

America shook his head. He really needed to stop thinking depressing stuff up like that. He turned around to head back to his car, imagining what it would be like to walk along the shore with England.

_There was not a word of folly  
Spoken between us two  
Though we lingered oft in the garden  
Till the roses were wet with dew_

America and England walked through the younger nations garden in the shining moonlight. He really only had it for England, since the dude loved to grow roses and other plants, and his garden was overflown with them.

Neither could sleep for some reason, so they just took a nice stroll, much to the Brit's protest. He would never admit it, but England was actually enjoying himself in the other's presense.

Not a single joke was uttered as they walked the brick path around the garden. A rare comfortable silence settled over them, just looking at the red, white, and blue roses.

_We touched on a thousand subjects –__  
__The moon and the worlds above –__  
__And our talk was tinctured with science__  
__And everything else, save love_

They talked about everything from the weather, moon, flowers, anything that came to their mind. Science may not have been England's strong suit, but it was certainly America's. He was quite shocked to hear the complicated scientific theories said in an unusually serious tone from America. The boy was not all that stupid, apparently.

America was enjoying himself. Talking about what he loved with who he loved. He was very careful not to let the feeling spill out of his lips. If he did, he didn't think the elder nation would speak to him for a good century or more.

_A wholly Platonic friendship  
You said I had proven to you  
Could bind two people  
The whole long season through_

England was yet again shocked as he came to realize as the summer season passed that America was not so bad to be around. Yes, he could be a bloody git every now and then, but he felt as if the boy really was trying to form a friendship between them. He told the teenager so one afternoon, gaining a shining smile with something obviously hidden behind it.

He did not question it in the least, but he was curious. One night, he had gone out of the guest room America had kindly given him to get a midnight glass of herbal tea to help him sleep, when he heard a sound from America's room. He paused and listened, hearing a sound familiar to one he had not heard from the nation since he was a child and it was raining outside.

The sound of sobbing.

It broke the Brit's heart, but he dare not go in. America could handle himself, couldn't he? He proved that himself after the Revolution. He obviously did not need England, no matter how much the other needed him.

_With never a thought of flirting  
Though both were in their youth  
What would you have said, my love  
If you had known the truth_

America and England's friendship was developing quite well, much to America's joy and dismay. Joy because they finally had a relationship that was not full of pointless arguing. Dismay because. . . Well, how many people have gotten out of the friend-zone in real life, huh? Sure, it happened in books and films all the time, but almost never in real life. It was practically unheard of!

America didn't dare flirt with England, for fear of being severely injured by the Brit or his French boyfriend. Or both.

He still felt the need to tell England everything. From the short time he hated him as a colony, to the love he developed that was much more than a strong brotherly love. But, how would England react? Slap him, punch him, kick him where the sun don't shine? Maybe he would cut all ties with the nation. No, America couldn't take that. He couldn't take being ignored by his love.

Even if it meant they would only ever be friends, it was okay. As long as England was happy, right?

_What would you have done, I wonder  
Had I gone on my knees to you  
And told you my passionate story  
There in the dusk and the dew_

America and England were taking a midnight stroll through the garden again. The dew had settled on the delicate rose petals, shining like diamonds in the oil lamps America had set up in his garden. He may be a majorly advanced country, but he liked old-fashioned stuff too!

America glanced over at England, spotting a small smile on the nation's face.

He smiled. At least England was happy, right? Better not ruin it by admitting everything – a thought that popped in the young country's head much more often than it should.

_My burning, burdensome story  
Hidden and hushed so long—  
My story of hopeless loving—  
Say, would you have thought it wrong_

His head really should shut up. He was one more utterance from his conscious away from just spilling everything. Why was he thinking about it now, of all times!? Seriously, he should just be enjoying this moment with Iggy, since it rarely ever happened.

"America?" England snapped.

Said nation stopped to see his elder three inches from his face. "Ah, sorry dude. What did you say?" He desperately tried to ignore the short distance between them and how if he just _leaned in a bit closer – _

England sighed and stepped away. "I asked you if something was the matter. You seem a bit. . . Spacey." Yes, the boy was like that most of the time, but ever since England over-heard him that night, he had been observing America closely, attempting to figure out just what was going on in his head.

America was shocked briefly before smiling. "Yeah Artie, I'm fine!" Did he let his mask slip?

England rolled his eyes, continuing his path with the American by his side.

Momentarily, he felt America's hand brush his.

No, he must be imagining things. America would never want to hold his hand. They were just _friends_, right? Perhaps it was just an accident.

_But I fought with my heart and conquered  
I hid my wound from sight  
You were going away in the morning  
And I said a calm good-night_

America lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling. It was about midnight, England had already gone to bed after they bid each other good night. Well, he was leaving in the morning, so he did need his rest.

Weird how summer passes so fast. They got all the business they needed to handle done the week before, so they were just hanging out with each other all day.

That time was over now.

God damn it, he didn't know when England would ever agree to spending the entire summer with him again – he doubted he ever would. Why did it have to end so quickly!?

America slipped his glasses off and set them on his chest before covering his sky blue orbs with his arm. He was too tired to move to his bed. England would just nag him in the morning when he woke up about "not moving to the bed like a sane person."

When he woke up though, he was under his favourite quilt and his glasses were on the coffee table. Beside it, was a cup. America slipped on his glasses and saw the mug was filled with coffee. He picked it up carefully and took a sip.

Perfect.

It was then he realized the house felt. . . Empty. What if England already left!? America looked at the clock on the wall and saw it was 9 PM.

Yep, he already left.

America sighed and continued sipping his coffee, depressed England left already without saying goodbye. He went to set his coffee cup back on the table when he noticed a yellow sticky note stuck to the oak surface. America picked it up and read it over.

America,

You git, you fell asleep on the couch! Why did you not go to bed like a sane man? Oh, whatever. You were shivering in your sleep, so I put a quilt on you. I'm only telling you because if I didn't, you would think it was a ghost. I also made you a cup of coffee the way you like it. We both know how you enjoy it in the morning.

Anyway, I am sorry for not telling you goodbye. Good luck with that ache you will have from sleeping on the bloody couch.

England

America smiled. It was kinda unlike England to do something nice for him.

_But now when I sit in the twilight  
Or when I walk by the sea  
That friendship, quite Platonic  
Comes surging over me_

America sat on the beach, staring out at the horizon as night descended on the Western coast.

It was already the beginning of Winter, so he was in heavier clothing. He wished for summer again. For the warm weather, the midnight walks, the chats, the jokes, the friendship. _Especially_ the friendship.

America was hoping, _praying _that England didn't just totally forget about a few months ago. Those were times America would treasure forever. It was the first time he was probably truly happy since the Revolution.

_And a passionate longing fills me  
For the roses, the dusk, the dew  
For the beautiful summer vanished  
For the moonlight walks—and you_

America lay on his couch, staring at the ceiling. Deja vu much? He sighted and slipped his glasses off, setting them on his chest.

He really should not be thinking about England this much! The dude doesn't even _like _him half the time, so why the fuck would he ever love him?

There was a knock at the door. America didn't look up. He hadn't locked his door anyway. "It's open!"

The front door opened and slammed. "Honestly, you git, you need to lock your door."

America sat up straight, fumbling for his glasses.

"A-Artie? Dude, what are you doing here?" he questioned.

England huffed and crossed his arms. "The stupid frog pissed me off. Mind if I stay here?"

Honestly, France hadn't pissed him off that day. He and France had broken up almost a year ago, so the only reason they would be in contact is if they needed to discuss something or France wanted to annoy him. He was only here because. . . Oh bloody Hell, he had no idea why he was in America, let alone America's house.

Said nation smiled brightly. "Sure dude! Stay as long as you want!"

A smile appeared on England's lips. "Thank you Alfred."

America's smile widened, the slightest tint of pink from the use of his human name appeared on his cheeks. "No problem _Arthur_." He smirked when he saw a tint of pink on England's cheeks. He laughed when the older nation stormed up to him and hit him on the back of the head.

Maybe this wasn't the end of the roses, the dusk, the dew, or the moonlight walks.

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**A/N: Okay, just bloody shoot me now! I had an idea of where I was headed with the sequel, but the story just decided to gain a mind of its own and took over. I am sorry for the OOCness and the cursing and the over-all horridness of this. I just. . . Sorry. Flames if you want. This story bloody well deserves to burn in the pits of Hell.**


End file.
